The Stronger
by Mornwey
Summary: Mutants are almost universally hated and feared. But sometimes love is stronger than fear [slash]
1. The Originals

**The Stronger**

**Summary: Mutants are almost universally hated and feared. But sometimes love is stronger than fear  
Fandom: X-Men  
Pairings: Assorted OC/OC pairings  
Warnings: Slash, bad language, violence  
Disclaimer: If you recognise it, it ain't mine. If you _don't_ recognise it, on the other hand, it's all mine and I'll kill you if you try to steal it  
Author's Note: See, what happened was that I was thinking about what would happen if someone in my group of friends was a mutant. I realised that our reaction would be something along the lines of: "No way - awesome! What are your powers? Do some cool shit!"**

**A few other things need to be said. Firstly, this happens around the same time as X2. And I'm not going purely with movie canon – a few things have been taken from the comics or TV shows. I'll point them out as I come to them.**

**Chapter 1 – The Originals**

My name is Andrew Mitchell. I'm seventeen, and I'm basically a normal kid…

Ha! I can't say that with a straight face. I've never been normal. I'm bi, and if you've got a problem with that, fuck you. I'm not ashamed of what I am. Course, I haven't told my parents yet. Because my mom would freak out and my dad would be pissed off, and it's just _so_ not worth the trouble.

My family is not exactly what you'd call happy. My father's a businessman, and frankly I'm surprised he can remember my name most of the time. I must have spoken all of ten words to him in the last month. And my mom's a lawyer, who is also never home. They basically ignore me and I return the favour. In fact, the only family member I can stand is my little sister Karen. She's twelve and she's the sweetest kid. I've never really wasted much love on my parents, so she gets it all.

Apart from Karen, the person I'm closest to is my best friend David. He used to live next door to me. But around the same time as my sister was born, his dad pulled a disappearing act. So we moved to a bigger house in the expensive part of town, and David and his mom moved to a shabby apartment on the wrong side of the tracks.

David's about six inches shorter and a lot slimmer than me, with shoulder-length blonde hair that he's immensely proud of. He's got bright blue eyes turned up a little at the corners, and he's got these delicate features and high cheekbones that make him good-looking in a slightly feminine sort of way – just between you and me, actually, he's pretty damn hot. He's an adrenaline junkie, and he's completely nuts: when we were kids he was always the one coming up with crazy schemes that got us in _so_ much trouble. David and me were closer than brothers when we were growing up, and that's basically because of our parents.

See, ever since I was a baby my parents weren't around much, so I've been more or less raised by David's mom – generally known as Jen, Jenny, or Big J. She's really cool – and she's still young, because she was like sixteen when she had David. She's absolutely tiny, less than five feet, but you don't actually realise it at first because she's got so much attitude and confidence that you find yourself looking up to her even if you have to kneel to do so. She's got really blonde hair, so pale it's almost white, and she keeps it short so it sticks up in spikes. She's some sort of scientist, although you would never guess it to look at her, and she works for the local university. I'm not sure exactly what she does, but she has to travel abroad a lot – once they spent a year in Japan, and David came back jabbering at me in Japanese just to annoy me. She's got a really deep natural tan, and a rather worrying number of scars. I learned every swear-word I know from her, and she let us watch R-rated movies before we'd even started middle school. I never 'came out' to my parents, but I think Jen knew before I did.

We live in New Ellesmere, which is a fair-sized town out in the middle of nowhere. Just your standard town really – think Springfield without the comic relief. I suppose it's not a bad place, but damn if it isn't boring as hell.

We have a routine in the mornings. We have to walk to school, because they're too cheap to provide a bus. My parents have always left by the time I wake up. I have a shower, pull on whatever clothes fall most easily to hand, and make sure Karen's awake. It's about take time that David shows up – the way the town's laid out, it's not really out of his way to come through my neighbourhood. The nearest bridge over the railway line _is_ out of his way, though, and I know David far too well. He crosses the line, even though it's stupid and dangerous and illegal. That's David for you.

The elementary school, middle school and high school are all near each other, so Karen walks with us. This is us walking to school; even in the most scorching summer, David will be wearing his floor-length leather jacket. He loves it – I swear, they're gonna have to bury him in that thing, because not even death will part him from it. He lets his hair hang loose, and it swings hypnotically from side to side as he walks. He won't be carrying anything, because if it can't fit in his pockets he doesn't want to know. Odds on he'll be wearing those fingerless black leather biker glove as well. What can I say? He's just got a thing for leather…and I can't say I'm complaining.

Mom tries to get Karen to wear all this girly designer-label junk, but she usually wears my old clothes instead. On this particular day she's wearing an old Baltimore Ravens shirt, a battered pair of jeans and – I'm pretty sure although I couldn't swear to it – a pair of my boxers…please don't even _ask_. Her hair is a dark reddish-brown, and she usually ties it back in a tail. She has green eyes, same as me. She's a cute kid. I try not to be overprotective, but it's hard. I mean, if you saw some of the guys in her class, you'd be overprotective too. She keeps all her books in her kit bag – she's on the school soccer team. I'm as proud as hell…and mom and dad haven't gone to _one_ of her games, not even when she scored a goal in the state final last year.

And here's me: I'm about six feet tall, with long-ish hair. It's naturally dark brown, but right now I'm dying it blue just for the sheer randomness of it. I don't really think I'm much to look at, but I suppose most people think that about themselves. At least I'm not a fat-ass like some of the kids at my school. My favourite jeans are black, and so old and ripped that they're about three stitches away from falling apart completely. Then there's my favourite t-shirt, which is battered, faded, and way too big for me. It's white; it has Kaneda from _Akira_ on the front and it says "AD 2019: Neo Tokyo is about to E.X.P.L.O.D.E" (You know, the anime? If you haven't seen it, I command you to do so now…).

Anyway, it takes us almost half an hour to walk to school, and even longer on the way back because we tend to swing by the arcade or the beach. We're late to class so often that most of the teachers have given up caring.

Today is a Tuesday, and as usual me and David run into English at least five minutes after the bell has gone. Our English teacher, Mrs. Cardell, is one of those nice yet slightly insane old ladies who constantly wear a rather demented smile – she's the best. She waves us to our seats without a word and keeps right on explaining about the lesson.

"We are going to have a debate," she said, writing on the board. I crane to see what she's written: The Mutant Registration Act, "I want you to decide whether you are for or against it, and we'll split into two teams and debate whether or not the Act should be passed. Who is against it?"

David's hand and two others go up immediately, followed more slowly by mine. Great – four out of a class of thirty. David always picks the side he knows will be outnumbered, and I go on the same side as him: it's just easier. I have no idea what he really thinks – he could argue just as compellingly for either side. There are a few undecided, but almost everyone else is in favour of the Act. I'm in a class full of right-wing morons. What _fun_.

We are split into groups to share our views and organise our arguments. The other two in our group are Kelly Marks and Michael Green. I'm not surprised – Kelly's mom is an equal rights activist, and I'm pretty sure Michael's sister was a mutant. Me and David spend the allotted fifteen minutes chatting aimlessly about completely unrelated topics. Michael's making a paper airplane, and Kelly's happily vandalising the desk. The start of the debate takes us a little by surprise.

"Mr Campbell, would you like to state your case?"  
"What?" David looked confused for a moment before realising what he was supposed to do; "Oh right. Yeah, okay." He stood up and cleared his throat.

"'_We hold these truths to be self-evident'_," he recited, "_'that all men are created equal. That they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights. That among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. That to secure these rights, governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed'_." He paused; "This is from the Declaration of Independence, the document that created the USA. Oppressing people because they are different – be it because they are mutants, or different for any other reason – is betraying the very principles upon which our homeland was founded. Segregation of blacks and whites was exposed for the racist piece of fascism it was, and future generations will look upon the segregation of mutants and so-called 'normal' humans in much the same way. All prejudice stems from fear of the unknown, fear of what is different. To give in to our instinctive prejudices is to declare ourselves nothing more than cowards." He stopped, and grin slowly spreading across his face; "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I rest my case."

I know David wants to be in a band when he grows up, but he really should be a lawyer. That was absolutely brilliant – now no-one could argue against his speech without appearing like an unpatriotic coward. And that's the last thing any redneck wants. Besides, no-one was even thinking of the debate – they were all staring at David like he'd grown an extra head. As he had spoken, I saw jaws dropping, and even Mrs Cardell looked surprised. David is profoundly lazy – he doesn't study, and he doesn't try in class. But never, _ever_ make the mistake of thinking he's stupid. Too many of our teachers and classmates have, and he always proves them wrong eventually.

It was a double period of English, and we had break straight afterwards. We headed to the basketball court on the far side of the playing fields. That's where all our friends hang out. Our numbers vary – anything from five to thirty depending on the day, time, and assorted other factors. There are six 'Originals', however - those of us who have been together since kindergarten.

There's David and me, of course. Then there's the Twins – Nicola and Melissa Adams. We call them Pinky and Perky, because we know it annoys them…but not very often, because they kick our asses if we exceed the quota. They're identical, and not even their parents can tell them apart. They're tall, with curly red hair and brilliantly green eyes.

Next in line is Lily "Caramel" Shan, the mysterious oriental beauty. She was born right here, but her parents are from Japan – she speaks Japanese, and she was really pleased when David came back from his year abroad speaking it too. They have these long conversations that none of the rest of us can understand. She has long dark hair, and almond-shaped eyes so dark brown they're almost black. I wasn't exaggerating – she is _beautiful_. I went out with her for a while in ninth grade, and _damn_ if I wasn't convinced I was the luckiest guy on earth. We split up not long after – it just wasn't working – but I'm honest enough with myself to admit I'm not completely over her.

Lastly we have Colin Johnson – better known as CJ. He's short with baby blue eyes, and he dyes his hair shocking pink to annoy his dad. He's absolutely obsessed with music, and he plays bass. He also has a freakily high singing voice. There are others, of course, but they come and go. Nothing can split up the Originals.

"About time you two showed up," CJ said as we flopped onto the concrete beside them; "We were starting to think you didn't love us any more."  
"How could we stop loving you?" I replied, blowing him a kiss. He winked and fluttered his eyelashes at me. CJ's straight, but he doesn't mind messing around like that. Or at least I'm fairly sure he's straight – it's never safe to assume anything with CJ.  
"Hey, we got some great news!" Nicola – at least I think it was Nicola – said.  
"Yeah," probably-Melissa agreed; "Our parents are going to Paris for their anniversary this weekend – so we've got the house to ourselves. Party at our house on Friday night!"  
"Sweet!" Caramel said.  
"Why not Saturday?" I asked. Nicola shrugged:  
"Gives everyone an extra day to recover – and us an extra day to clean up."  
"Cool."

Nothing of interest happened for the rest of the day – except from me getting an A on our Physics test. Not bad, huh? For once in my life, everything is going well. What could possibly go wrong?

**Note: People referring to real football as "soccer" _really_ annoys me. But, well, Andrew is American, and I'm trying to write in character. Damn my artistic integrity.**


	2. The Party

**The Stronger**

**Summary: Mutants are almost universally hated and feared. But sometimes love is stronger than fear  
Fandom: X-Men  
Pairings: Assorted OC/OC pairings  
Warnings: Slash, bad language, violence  
Disclaimer: If you recognise it, it ain't mine. If you _don't_ recognise it, on the other hand, it's all mine and I'll kill you if you try to steal it  
Author's note: I have really had too few reviews to warrant updating. But hey, I was bored.  
**

**Chapter 2 – The Party**

For a change, I had everything planned out, every angle covered. My parents wouldn't let me go to the party without interrogating the hell out of the twin's parents…and since they don't know about the party, that would be bad. So I told them I'm staying the night at David's house. I do that so often that they don't even care any more.

Damn, David's lucky. My mom would have been like; 'No drink, no drugs, no smoking, no girls, call me every couple of hours and you'd better be home by ten'. All Jen said was; 'Don't get yourselves arrested, cause I ain't paying no bail money'. Goddamnit, would it kill my parents to be that cool about stuff?

Jen agreed to cover me if my parents called about me staying the night there. She _really_ doesn't like my parents. Of course she'd never say so in front of me or them, but you can tell. According to David, she once referred to my mom and dad as 'shallow cut-price parodies of parents'. I'm gonna remember that one in case I ever have a real fight with them.

So on Friday morning, I left forty dollars and a couple of microwavable meals on the kitchen table for Karen. You'd think my parents would call a babysitter or something, but apparently they think she can take care of herself. I mean it's not that I don't think so, because she _can_ look after herself, but aren't parents meant to be paranoid about that sort of thing? We were late for school, because I'd forgotten my Chemistry folder, and we had Chemistry first thing. So I had to go back for it, and David and Karen were nice enough to wait for me.

Our Chemistry teacher, unfortunately, is one of the smart ones, and he's sat me and David at opposite ends of the class. It doesn't bother us, because we spend the entire lesson tossing stuff at each other, and anyone else willing to join in. Unless there's fire or explosions of any sort, because then David the Pyromaniac wouldn't be distracted by World War Three. Yeah, that's the same David who almost got us arrested the time he decided it would be fun to make Molotov Cocktails…idiot. Once he stuck his entire arm in a Bunsen burner. Didn't even get singed, which is weird as hell. I think he almost got suspended, though – stupid uptight teachers.

So anyway, we were sitting flicking paper pellets at each other when the Vice-Principal came in with his bad-news face on. I've never seen him looking that serious – so, of course, the entire class was immediately like 'oh shit, who died?'. We were escorted to the auditorium. The entire school was there, in varying states of panic. Assorted theories were floating around, ranging from terrorist attacks to declarations of war.

Turns out none of us were even close.

They turned on the big TV on the stage, and for the first time in as long as I can remember, the students were completely silent. We stared in shocked horror as the newsreader spoke, voice echoing in the eerily quiet room. A mutant had tried to assassinate the president.

I remember thinking that people were going to freak out big style about this. No-one was going to give a damn about equal rights or anything like that now. I wonder how many atrocities there were on that day – how many mutants were hurt or killed because of the attack. I know it's hardly the fashionable attitude, but I feel sorry for them. It must be difficult trying to fit in when you're so different.

People talked about nothing else for the whole day. I for one got pretty sick of the subject. I wasn't the only one – Melissa said quite firmly that anyone who even thought the word 'assassination' at the party was getting kicked out on their ass. We walked straight to the Twins' house after school. David had gone off with Nicola to try and rope someone of age into buying drink for us, so I spent most of the walk there talking to CJ.

"When was the last time to dyed your hair?" he asked me unexpectedly as we were walking through the park.  
"About six weeks ago," I replied, "Why, are my roots coming through?"  
"No," he said in a tone of confusion; "They aren't."  
"What?" I tried to look at my roots, but as anyone who's ever tried will tell you, that is actually impossible. I would have sworn it was a little longer, but maybe my hair just isn't growing. I hope I haven't inherited my dad's premature baldness…that would suck big time.

Anyway, let's ignore that disturbing thought – party time!

Nicola and David came back loaded down with assorted alcohol; apparently their mission was a success. We put music on, cracked open the bottles, and people started arriving around eight. In our school it's impossible to invite anyone without inviting everyone. See you, tell someone about the party, and they tell their friends, and their friends bring a friend, and before long the entire school's trying to fit into one house.

I ended up standing in the kitchen talking to some cheerleader chick and trying to avoid admitting that I have no idea what her name is. She's pretty drunk and trying to chat me up, so I mentally broadcast 'help me!' as loud as I can. Thankfully, Melissa soon came past and rescued me.

"Andrew, honey, we need to talk!" she said brightly, grabbing me by the arm and dragging me away.  
"Thank you!" I said in profound relief.  
"No prob," she shrugged it off, "If you're interested, we've got a game of truth or dare going in the spare room."  
"Count me in."

I followed her upstairs. There were about fifteen people sitting in a rough circle in the spare bedroom. I spotted five of the Originals – Nicola was downstairs keeping order – and a great many people I vaguely recognised but couldn't have named. I was quite drunk at this stage, so fine details such as that kept eluding me. I sat down between Caramel and a redheaded girl whose name escaped me.

"Andrew!" a blonde 12th-grader – who I believe was called Kyle – said happily; "Truth or dare?"  
"Um…truth."  
"Coward," he sniffed; "Alright then; who's your celebrity crush?"  
I blushed; "Johnny Depp." Assorted catcalls came from the corners of the dimly lit room.  
"Lily," he said, moving on.  
"Truth," she said immediately.  
"Hmm…let's see. Who was the first guy you went past second base with?"  
She muttered something barely audible, and everyone pressed her to repeat it; "I _haven't_!" she said irritably.  
"Good girl. David?"  
"Dare," he grinned.  
"Ah, _finally_. Run around the garden in your underwear."

He did it as well. Stripped to his boxers and climbed out of the window. Quite a few people wolf-whistled as he shed his clothes, and I had to remind myself not to stare. He had a pretty good tan, decent muscles and not a spare ounce on him. Everyone cheered him on as he ran around the garden, and he was encouraged enough by this to do a couple of cartwheels. Since he was also drunk that ended badly, but it was the effort that counted. He climbed back in through the window and took a bow before dressing again.

Kyle went round the circle, and we got a good laugh. CJ admitted that he'd kissed another guy, and yes he _had_ been sober at the time. Melissa hung her bra from the satellite dish on the roof. A girl whose name I forget even though she's been in my class for years downed an entire bottle of straight vodka. And then it was my turn again (It involved a condom…please don't even ask).

After we got bored of that, we went for 'spin the bottle'. In case you don't know, you sit in a circle and someone spins a bottle in the middle. The person it points to first has to kiss the person it points to second. First time it landed on Melissa, then Kyle. They managed to get it over with without looking too awkward about the whole business. The thing was that at least three quarters of the people in the room were male, so the guy-on-guy action was a foregone conclusion. But I'm not complaining here.

By some trick of fate, the first victim of the bottle was CJ, and some guy I couldn't have named if my life depended on it. Poor CJ. I swear the universe is conspiring against the guy. I lost track pretty quickly, but I believe that at midnight my total was three girls and eight guys, some of them more than once. Lily spun the bottle, and it landed on me once more. Fair enough. Then she spun it again and it landed on David.

Shit

I hope to god you're trustworthy, because I'm about to tell you something that not another living soul knows, something that if I was sober I wouldn't even dream of telling anyone. I've sort of got a crush on David. No, in fact, that's not exactly true. I'm absolutely head-over-heels in love with him…which is awkward as hell, because he's my best friend. And no matter how close we are, he'd probably freak if he had any idea how I felt about him. I mean, he'd be nice about it. He wouldn't laugh in my face, because he's not like that. But he'd never see me the same way again, and I'm not going to risk that. I've never been closer to anyone in my entire life. I'm not going to lose my best friend because of stupid teenage hormones.

Okay, stay cool man. Pretend you haven't been dreaming about this for months. Pretend you're not going to enjoy this way too much. Maybe if you pretend hard enough you can make yourself believe it. I blame the drink. If I was sober, I'd have run for the hills the second the bottle wobbled to a halt. But still, no problem. I'll probably get away with just a quick peck…

"Hey, do it properly!" Or not, as the case may be. Damn, damn, damn, damn, _damn_! I should have realised this would happen eventually. Not just sat there thinking my luck would hold…

David's an impatient sort of person, not really given to introspection. When I space out – which I do a lot – he brings me out of it in a variety of creative and slightly sadistic ways. I'm spacing out in a big way now, so it really shouldn't have come as so much of a shock when he wrapped his arms firmly around my waist and kissed me. Hard.

Whoa

In these situations it's usually rather embarrassing and awkward for everyone involved. But if I had to describe David – especially when he's drunk – the word 'shameless' would figure prominently. He doesn't seem to care that everyone in the room is staring at us, or that I'm blushing so badly you could probably fry enough burgers to supply every McDonalds in America on my cheeks. Then his tongue slips past my lips and suddenly I don't care either. I don't notice the shocked silence, or the blinding flash off to one side.

Actually I completely forgot what was going on, and I was a little dazed when he pulled away after what seemed like an eternity but could only have been a few seconds. Then I turned bright red as I gathered my scrambled wits and realised that every eye was fixed on us. I slunk back to my seat, wanting nothing more than to sink into the ground and disappear.

"What?" David asked of the world in general as if nothing unusual had just happened.  
"_Damn_ that was hot!" Melissa said. Lily patted me sympathetically on the shoulder as I buried my face in my hands, and Kyle wordlessly passed me another bottle of vodka. I don't remember much after that.

Surprisingly, I wasn't actually all that hung-over the next morning. I had a slight headache, yeah, and the thought of breakfast was rather nauseating, but aside from that I was fine. I staggered to my feet and checked the clock on the wall – quarter past eleven. I was supposed to be home by twelve. I would have just disappeared, but my dad had taken this weekend off for some golf tournament thing, and he'd mentioned something about picking me up from David's. Shit – I had to get over there _now_. I spent fifteen minutes looking for David, and eventually found him semiconscious on the stairs to the third floor. I kicked him in the ribs; "Wake up."

Yeah it was uncharitable, but the little I could remember of the previous night was not leading me to feel particularly well-disposed towards anyone. Especially not David.

"Ooo…I want die…" he moaned, clutching his head.  
"Move your lazy ass or I'll grant your wish," I said irritably. He shot me an offended look and sat up slowly.  
"What's the rush?" he muttered, eventually getting to his feet with the aid of the handrail.  
"My dad's picking me up form your place in less than half an hour," I replied impatiently. By degrees, we made it out of the front door. Nicola waved us an inordinately cheery goodbye as we passed her in the garden.

It was a fifteen minute walk to David's house, and I spent a lot of it trying to work out how to raise the subject that was bothering me. I finally managed it walking up the grubby stairs to the tiny fifth-floor apartment David and his mom shared.

"You remember anything about last night?" I asked casually. David frowned.  
"A little…I remember running around the garden in my underwear. After that; nothing." I breathed a sigh of relief - he didn't remember. But there had been plenty of people a lot more sober than either of us in the room. And that flash…could that have been a camera?

Shit

This is going to be all over the school by Monday.

**Note: It is actually possible to stick your arm in a Bunsen burner without getting burnt. I know this because I did so in school once. It was fun, although my lab partner freaked out big style…**


	3. The Change

**The Stronger**

**Summary: Mutants are almost universally hated and feared. But sometimes love is stronger than fear  
Fandom: X-Men  
Pairings: Assorted OC/OC pairings  
Warnings: Slash, bad language, violence  
Disclaimer: If you recognise it, it ain't mine. If you _don't_ recognise it, on the other hand, it's all mine and I'll kill you if you try to steal it  
Author's Note: "Mmm…you smell nice". That's _exactly_ the sort of random thing I come out with when I'm half asleep and using someone as a pillow. It can be very embarrassing.**

**Chapter 3 – The Change**

On reflection, I'm not sure why I was so worried about my dad arriving early. It was almost one o'clock when he finally arrived.

My dad is tall and heavily built – he used to box, and he still hasn't lost all that muscle despite the increasing size of his beer-belly. Jen is almost a foot and a half shorter than him, slim and bird-boned, much like David. But somehow she still managed to look intimidating as she greeted him with a smile as genuine as a ten-dollar Rolex. I wonder if he has any idea how much she hates him.

"I hope he wasn't too much trouble," my dad said stiffly. He almost never refers to me by my name.  
"Oh, it was no trouble at all," Jen replied in a falsely cheery voice; "It was nice to have the extra hour." Indirectly, that's a jibe about his lateness. Way to go Jen. He started to walk away, then stopped as he realised I wasn't following. I gave Jen a wave, and then hugged David goodbye because I knew it'd annoy my dad. I mean I would have done it anyway, but that makes it even funnier.

"Call me!" David yelled after us; "We'll go out or something later." I grinned in acknowledgement and waved goodbye once more as I ambled down the stairs.

My dad looked around suspiciously as if he expected us to be mugged or shot at any moment. My dad never felt comfortable in that neighbourhood – he's convinced it's populated by junkies and alcoholics. And yeah, there are quite a few. But it's not like our street, where people nod formally when they pass each other and bitch about their neighbours behind their backs. Here, everyone knows everyone else by name, and even strangers will start a random conversation with you. Maybe the kids playing in the street are dirty and wear second-hand clothes; maybe they're playing with rusty cans and loose bricks from the crumbling tenements instead of brand-new sports equipment; but they'll still include you in their games whether they know you or not. When I first moved to the street I live in now, no-one would even talk to me. Hell, they still don't. This may be the ghetto, but people stick together here… just make sure you always carry mace, and never go out after dark.

I flopped unceremoniously into the passenger seat of my dad's neurotically clean company car. He slams the door emphatically as if to create a barrier between him and the riff-raff.

"I don't know _why_ you talk to that boy," he sniffed as he started the car. I scowled at the dashboard. My dad always hated David, even when we were little kids. I tuned out as my dad started ranting, picking up the occasional word about 'ghetto trash' or 'beneath you'. What the hell does he know? I'll take 'ghetto trash' over stuck-up prudes with delusions of grandeur any day.

The rest of the day was uneventful. David called me around four, and we spent a few hours at the beach with the others before going back to his place for dinner. Jen is a brilliant cook, but it's not the food that makes me feel so content when we're lounging around on their battered couch, eating some sort of Indian food – which was, incidentally, extremely spicy. It's the easy banter and comfortable laughter creating a friendly atmosphere that seems not to exist in my own house.

Then suddenly it's eight o'clock and David and me are sprawled on his bed playing video games. Jen's on the late shift at her work, so it's just the two of us and it's really nice. I've had some of the best times of my life like this; tossing potato chips at each other as I whoop David's ass at _Soul Calibur II_. Hours passed like minutes this way, and we ended up watching _Aliens_. That movie scared the hell out of me the first time I saw it, but now it's just another part of life.

Anyway, I wasn't actually paying much attention to the movie. Because a still slightly hung-over David was half asleep with his head in my lap as I toyed absently with a strand of his wavy blonde hair. He smiled faintly: "Mmm…you smell nice," he mumbled. He looked positively angelic, soft blonde hair falling across his face as his bright blue eyes gazed sleepily at nothing. I suddenly felt like crying, because he was so beautiful and I knew he'd never want me. Love is a bitch.

I'm not sure when I fell asleep. I have a vague memory of waking a little when Jen came into the room around 2am. She turned the TV off and left again, smiling faintly, and I drifted back off to sleep.

I winced a little at the bright sunlight streaming in through the window as I woke up around noon the next day…well, technically it was the same day, but you know what I mean. I blushed a little as I thought of David – I was lying in his bed, remember? He looked almost unbearably cute, blonde hair tousled adorably. At some point during the night he'd wrapped his arms around my waist, and was still clinging to me as if I was an oversized teddy-bear. I'm not sure why, but David tends to latch onto the nearest person when he falls asleep and refuse to let go. Usually me.

And there he is, with his arms wrapped around me and his head resting on my chest. Goddamnit, I have _dreamed_ about waking up like this. Okay, so there's usually less clothing involved. And we generally aren't surrounded by pointy shards of partially-crushed potato chips. But I'm sure you get the point.

Gods - I'm starting to sound like the heroine of a sappy romance novel. Embarrassing, yes?

This is starting to get a little awkward. I mean, I'm lying in bed with someone extremely hot. Some sort of…reaction…is inevitable - you understand what I'm getting at here? I managed to wriggle free, but I woke David up in the process. He sat up, rubbing his eyes wearily.

"S'goin' on?" he asked, stifling a yawn.  
"I'm going home," I replied.  
'Oh," he cocked his head, looking at me quizzically; "Your eyes look weird."  
"What?"  
"The thingies…black bits…pupils, that's it – they're massive. You look like you're high or something." Brilliant. I look high – that's all I need. I'm going to take a gamble and hope my parents don't know what a high person looks like.  
"See you at school tomorrow," I said on my way out.  
"Ooh…don't remind me," David moaned. I grinned.

It's funny how much longer the walk to my house seems when I'm making it alone. Across the bridge over the train line, through the park, then there's the maze of cul-de-sacs and crescents – it was months before I could reliably find my way to my own house when we first moved there. My street is the standard suburban street you get in towns all across the country: very nice, very neat, very boring. My house is identical to all the others, where mass produced uniformity is the key. Yes, variety is indeed the spice of life.

I slipped in the back door, hoping to avoid my parents. But you know what? I'm not that lucky. My mom was standing at the sleek, shiny counter, chopping some sort of salad-looking thing. She gives me a half-disapproving, half-confused look…probably wondering why my t-shirt has 'Mother Russia' scrawled across the front of it. Iron Maiden, bitch – know the name and fear it.

All that my mom really wanted was nice, normal children. In other words; she wanted me to wear Abercrombie and play quarterback on the school football team, she wanted Karen to adore pink and listen to Britney Spears. And what has she got? I wear black, love manga, and listen to more rock music than can possibly be good for my mental health. Karen plays soccer, is vaguely uninterested in romance, and is more likely to be wearing boys' clothes than I am (What? Girls' jeans are comfortable – deal with it). Neither of us are normal by any stretch of the imagination. We're both rebelling against middle-class conformity in out own strange way.

"Your room needs tidied," my mom said.  
"Good morning to you too," I replied sarcastically. She shot me a very unfriendly look and then proceeded to ignore me. Yep, we're all one big happy family here.

I slouch up the stairs to my bedroom – which in all fairness does bear a distinct resemblance to a bombsite – and turn on my laptop. A few moments later, _Public Enema Number One_ is blaring from the speakers. I've put all my favourite music onto the hard-drive of my laptop, and some of the best songs ever written are in there. Irrationally, I feel great. Like some weight has been lifted from my shoulders, one I didn't even notice until it was gone. I couldn't say why…but it can only be a good thing, right? I lifted my guitar – my baby, I love her – from her stand. I suck pretty bad at riffs (I'm just not fast enough) but I'm good at bass. My guitar is a black and white electric/acoustic, and I nicknamed her 'Darth Betty' years ago. I'm still not sure why, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. Let's see…I'm sure I've got a plectrum around here somewhere…

There wasn't any warning. One moment I'm playing the bass line from _Phantom of the Opera_, the next I'm on the floor, clutching my head and screaming in agony. The tiny part of my brain still capable of coherent thought is on the verge of total panic, and two questions are chasing each other fruitlessly around the back of my head: w_hat the hell is going on? What's happening to me?_

The dim light filtering through the closed curtains was blinding, the music assaulted my ears like a battering ram, and I could actually _feel_ my hair and nails growing. I felt like my skull was splitting in two, like my brain was trying to force its way out of my ears. I tasted the sharp metallic tang of blood in my mouth, felt it trickling from my nose. I felt like I was going to die, and part of me hoped that I would, because then the pain would be over. No matter how depressed I've been, I have never, _ever_ wanted to die as much as I did in that endless moment of pure white-hot agony.

And then it stopped

What the _fuck_?

I got shakily to my feet. Maybe the effects hadn't quite worn off yet, but everything seemed brighter, sharper – like my senses had been magnified. And I could see…lines in the air, seething like quicksilver over everything, flowing downwards into the ground. The searing pain inside my head had disappeared like it was never there. I shook my head, but the liquid silver hanging in the air didn't disappear. I could still see fine, it was just like I was seeing two different views of the world at once, one superimposed on the other. Every time I moved, I created the tiniest changes in the flow of silver, and it moved a little towards me as well as flowing into the ground. That gave me an idea – could I make it change more? Would something actually happen if I did?

I reached out with my hands, and very carefully formed a shape in my mind. I wanted the silver to flow around, so there was a space with no silver. I concentrated the void around a basketball perched for no apparent reason on my desk (Wait a minute…I own a basketball? When did that happen?), and then I closed my eyes and let the silver flow into that shape. The effort hit me like a punch in the gut, and suddenly I was gasping for breath. But I held the shape, and I jumped in shock when I opened my eyes – the basketball was floating in midair! I was so badly shaken that I lost all concentration, and the basketball dropped like a stone. It bounced when it hit the desk and flew off into a corner. I was trembling with exhaustion and fear – what was happening to me?

I just made something levitate…  
Doesn't that sound sort of…mutant-like?  
Shit

My head was spinning with the implications of all this. And maybe it was exhaustion or shock or both, but the room started spinning too. The floor swung up sideways and my knees buckled, and everything went black…

…_Andrew…_  
…_Andrew…_  
…_Andrew…_  
"Andrew!"

My eyes snapped open. My hopes that everything had been merely a nightmare were instantly dashed – that same sepia silver still flowed through the air. Did this mean I was a mutant? God, I hoped not. What would everyone say? My parents…Karen…the school…David. Oh gods, David…

"Andrew! Get down here now!"

Damn, that sounded like my mom. I staggered to my feet and out of my room. It was dark outside – holy shit, how long was I out for? My head hurt, a testament to how much that little effort had drained me. I managed to make it down the stairs, cautious since I still felt dizzy. I walked into the living room. My dad was there, reading a newspaper, Karen was watching TV and my mom was looking at some official-looking letter.

"Andrew," she said, eyes fixed on the letter; "We need to talk to you." She looked up at me, and all of the colour drained from her face as her eyes widened in shock and fear.

She opened her mouth and screamed.

**Note: In the commentary for X2, it was said that the original idea was that the dark cerebro would make mutants lose control of their powers. The idea here is that it would force Andrew's powers to manifest before they would normally have done, accelerating the change.**


	4. The Fight

**The Stronger**

**Summary: Mutants are almost universally hated and feared. But sometimes love is stronger than fear  
Fandom: X-Men  
Pairings: Assorted OC/OC pairings  
Warnings: Slash, bad language, violence  
Disclaimer: If you recognise it, it ain't mine. If you _don't_ recognise it, on the other hand, it's all mine and I'll kill you if you try to steal it  
Author's Note: I discovered last night that there actually is a place called Ellesmere. This discovery amused me.**

**Chapter 4 – The Fight**

I backed away, feeling a sudden rush of pure panic. How could she tell? Did I look different?

I still see the scene the way it froze in my mind then. My mom staring at me in shock and horror. My dad half-risen from his seat, face contorted in anger. Karen looking at me like she'd never seen me before. And there I was, frozen in the doorway, wrestling with an overwhelming impulse to turn and flee.

My dad snarled at Karen to get up to her room. Uncharacteristically for her she did so without hesitation, a panicky, terrified look on her face. She ran past me, head bowed, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Sit!" my dad growled, pointing to a chair. I obeyed slowly, cautiously, as if the slightest mistake on my part would cause an explosion. I suppose it was sort of like how I'd imagined 'coming out' to my parents – my dad shouting at me, my mom sobbing into her hands. Under normal circumstances I would be furious, but every other emotion was secondary to terror at that moment. My parents hated mutants. They were die-hard supporters of the Registration Act.

"Dad…" I said pleadingly; "Don't do this…"  
"Don't you dare call me that!" he bellowed; "You are not my son!"  
"I'm still the same person I was this morning!"  
"_Look at yourself, freak!_" He grabbed me forcefully by the hair, and I cried out in pain as he dragged me to my feet. He shoved me roughly in front of the mirror hanging above the fireplace. My eyes widened in shock as I saw myself…but surely those weren't my eyes? They were completely black, as if the pupil had expanded to cover the entire eye – no wonder the lights were so painfully bright. My hair had grown about four inches and the roots were an even deeper, more vibrant blue than the dyed tips. My god. No wonder my mom had freaked out.

My dad released his grip on my hair, and I stumbled at the sudden imbalance. I was reeling, my head full of all the horrible news reports about mutants being attacked or killed. It was all a nightmare…at any moment I was going to wake up. I would tell David about it at school the next day and we'd laugh. This couldn't be happening…

"Pack your bags and get out of my house," my dad said, suddenly strangely calm.  
"Dad, _please_," I almost begged.  
"I told you not to call me that!" he screamed, lashing out. The force of the blow knocked me off my feet as it caught me in the side of the face – I was too shocked to even try and dodge. I don't get on with my dad; never have, never will. But I never thought for even a second that he would actually _hurt_ me. I stared up at him, sprawled on the floor as he towered over me, red faced and panting. The side of my face stung – my eyes watered, and blood trickled down my chin from a split lip. The volume of my mother's sobbing increased.  
"_Pack your bags and get out of my house_," my dad repeated through clenched teeth. I wasn't stupid enough to try and argue for a second time – I scrambled to my feet and ran up to my bedroom.

I was blinded by tears by the time I reached my door, and it was only by luck that I didn't injure myself. For an endless moment I stood very still in the centre of my bedroom, tears streaming down my face. I saw my reflection in the screen of my laptop – the side of my face was swollen and red, already beginning to bruise, and blood from my split lip had dripped onto my t-shirt. I stared into my own eyes, those impossibly black eyes overflowing with tears.

And something snapped. I angrily dashed away the tears and began to move purposefully around my room. I shoved all my books and things into my schoolbag and somehow managed to cram my laptop in as well. All of my clothes fitted into the sack I used for laundry, and I was about able to stuff all the rest of my junk into a large green duffel-bag I'd brought on our last holiday. Then after a moment's thought I tore down my posters and pictures, folded them and put them into my art folder. All that was left was my guitar…into the case with her. There were a lot of other things lying around, but I couldn't carry it all. As long as I had the things I needed.

I slung my schoolbag and guitar case over my shoulders. I tucked the folder under my arm, and that left my hands free for the duffel bag and sack of clothes. Ugh – heavy. I could hear Karen crying through the wall that separated our bedrooms, and I felt a rush of guilt. She didn't need this. _I_ didn't need this.

I carried all my assorted junk down the stairs and out of the house, not even glancing sideways at my parents as I walked out of the front door. I could see perfectly well in the dark – a positive side effect of my scarily dark eyes. Neighbours were peering around curtains and out of doors, probably roused by all the shouting. I saw the house one last time as I turned the corner, and I started shaking as the whole horrible truth suddenly hit me.

I'm homeless  
I'm a mutant  
I may never see my family again  
Oh my god, I can't deal with this…

I got as far as the park before I realised I had no idea where I was going. I dropped the duffel-bag onto the grass under a tree and sat on it, staring blankly at nothing. I had no idea what I was going to do…absolutely no idea. Tears were starting in my eyes again, but I somehow managed to keep control of myself.

I jumped like I'd received an electric shock when my phone rang, the annoying ringtone I'd never worked out how to change sounding unnaturally loud in the silence. Where was it? A quick search of my pockets yielded nothing, but as it turned out the ringing was coming from my school bag. I pulled the phone out with shaking hands and stared at the number on the screen: 07792476936. David. For a long time I just stared at it. Should I answer? Why was he calling me this late anyway? My curiosity won out in the end, as it always does – I flipped the phone open and raised it to my ear.

"Hello?" I said a little shakily.  
"Andrew, what the fuck is going on?" David demanded; "Karen just called me, and she was crying so hard she could barely speak!"  
"I…I can't talk about it," I managed to say. There was silence at the other end of the line.  
"Where are you?" he said eventually.  
"In the park, but don't-" It was no use – the line went dead. God damn David and his impulsiveness.

I sat on the duffel-bag, staring blankly at the ground. I was still sitting like that when David appeared fifteen minutes later – holy crap, he must have run the whole way. He stopped a few feet away from me, unusually silent.

"What happened?" he said softly.  
"Got a light?" I whispered hoarsely. He produced a lighter, and I nodded; "Light it."

He stared at me in the dim, flickering light of the tiny flame. I closed my eyes, but I could still feel him looking at me. When I summoned the courage to open them again, he looked exactly like I felt – scared and confused, but with an underlying current of anger.

"Come on," he said, lifting my guitar case and the sack of clothing; "You're not hurt any more, are you – can you manage the rest?"  
"I made it this far, didn't I?"  
"Barely, by the looks of it."

It took us almost half an hour to walk back to David's, laden down as we were. The light was on in the window – evidently Jen was still up. It was nothing short of torture hauling all my shit up the ten flights of stairs to the apartment. I really need to throw a load of this out. Ugh – random thought, _concentrate_ you idiot. David unlocked the door and took my things through to his bedroom. I hung back, suddenly anxious. How would Jen react? I felt sick – I just didn't want this to be happening.

"Mom?" David said, opening the door to the front room. Uh oh – bad sign. David never calls Jen 'mom' unless he's really worried or upset. Occasionally a mocking 'mother dearest', but never just 'mom'.  
"Come in!" she said quickly, worry plainly evident in her voice. David stepped aside and gestured for me to go in – I swallowed nervously and did so.

Her beautiful almond-shaped blue eyes widened in shock as she saw me. She walked slowly, softly towards me as if I was a wild animal that might take fright at any sudden movement. I almost backed away as she came closer, and I flinched as I saw the anger in her eyes. And now the inevitable rejection…

She raised a hand to lightly trace the livid red mark on my cheek; "Oh, Andrew, honey," she whispered; "Who did this to you?" I almost cried at that moment, because she wasn't even seeing my freakishly dark eyes or bright blue hair – all she saw was that I was in pain. Then she wrapped her arms around me, and I _did_ cry then as she held me like I wished to god my own mother ever had.

"You're staying here," she said firmly after she released me.  
"I don't want to be a nuisance…" I said weakly. She drew herself up to her full height – four foot ten – and waved a finger at me.  
"Andrew Mitchell, don't you dare!" she said vehemently; "You've been as good as my son since you were a few months old, and _we_…" she gestured emphatically at David; "Are more your family than those narrow-minded, vindictive idiots ever were!" She paused; "Well, your parents. I'll make an exception for Karen."

I couldn't speak, but I think she understood.

It was late, almost midnight, so Jen made us all coffee. The front room of their flat is sort of a combination kitchen/dining room/TV room/study – basically everything they can't fit in the two tiny bedrooms and bare-essentials bathroom. I was still shaking a little as the night's events replayed in my head over and over again.

"Give me that before you spill it," David said, taking the coffee from me. He glances at the clock again; "Bedtime, I think."  
"Good idea," Jen said, yawning hugely; "Goodnight, boys,"

I followed David through to his bedroom and we crawled into bed, too tired to even bother undressing. Although I did remember to kick my shoes off. It was only a single bed, but we've always been able to fit comfortably. I looked around the dark room with my newly enhanced night vision. It made my bomb-site bedroom look neurotically clean by comparison, especially with all my junk dumped on the floor.

Of course – the bomb-site is no longer my bedroom. My parents tossed me out because I'm a freak. What fun.

"Are you okay?" David asked, rolling over to face me.  
"Yeah," I said; "Don't worry about me."  
"Can't help it," he murmured. His face was barely inches from mine, his blue eyes almost luminescent in the dim light. Genetics dealt him a good hand – I really don't see how he could look any better. He smiled faintly, already nearly asleep, and I was immensely grateful that we didn't bother undressing when he rested his head against my chest and draped an arm over my waist. Does he have no sense of personal space _at all_? And can he _really _have no idea of the effect he's having on me?

I hesitated, then slowly put my arms around him. He gave a soft contented murmur that sounded almost like a purr and leaned into me. And even though I know he doesn't think of it as anything more than friendship, it still feels so _right_ that I can't keep a smile from my face. I've always loved David's tendency to randomly blurt out whatever he's thinking right before he falls asleep. And as we were lying there, he mumbled sleepily; "Y'know, I think your eyes look cool."

And for the first time that night, I smiled.


	5. The Rumour

**The Stronger**

**Summary: Mutants are almost universally hated and feared. But sometimes love is stronger than fear**

**Fandom: X-Men**

**Pairings: Assorted OC/OC pairings**

**Warnings: Slash, bad language, violence**

**Disclaimer: If you recognise it, it ain't mine. If you _don't_ recognise it, on the other hand, it's all mine and I'll kill you if you try to steal it**

**Chapter 5 – The Rumour**

When you've just woken up in the morning, there is nothing better than the warm, sleepy contentment you feel when you're just awake enough to know you're still mostly asleep. And when you've just woken up in the morning, there is nothing worse than someone whipping the covers off of you and yelling; 'Wake up - time for school!' at the top of their voice.

I moaned in protest, curling up instinctively in a manner reminiscent of a hedgehog and burying my face in the pillow. Blinding sunlight flooded the room as the curtains were ripped open and David's arms tightened around my waist as he muttered obscenities, cursing life the universe and everything by the sound of it.

"Watch your damn mouth," Jen's voice came from somewhere behind the painfully bright beam of light streaming in through the partially open window. The bed creaked as David rolled over, grumbling under his breath; "Breakfast's gonna be on the table in twenty minutes, and I'm tossing it out the window if you ain't showered and dressed by then." She left the room, not bothering to close the door behind her. There was a warm weight pressing on me, which I assumed was David – I finally managed to open my eyes.

"Morning, dear," he said with a grin. He was leaning on my chest, chin resting comfortably on his crossed arms.

"Don't mind me," I said irritably.

"You were always such a morning person," he replied vaguely. He rolled off of the bed and staggered across the room to the door; "I'm going for a shower – try and find your school shit." I winced at the thought…my stuff was scattered all over the place, already haphazardly packed. School stuff…probably in the school bag, yes? Yeah, that makes sense. David had disappeared – I could hear running water from the bathroom. A delicious smell was wafting in from the kitchen, and my mouth started watering. I smelled bacon. Mmm…bacon, a la Homer Simpson.

I couldn't find the sack with my clothes in it. Well the jeans I'd worn yesterday were still okay, and David wouldn't mind if I stole…um, if I _borrowed_ some of his stuff. Hell, we've done that so often we're not really sure who most of our stuff belongs to any more.

The sound of running water stopped, and I went through to see if the shower was free. I knocked on the door; "David? You done?"

"Yeah, come on in," he called through. I opened the door and walked in. And stopped dead.

"Um…" I said, not particularly capable of coherent speech. David looked up at me quizzically, and _damn_ it's going to take me a long time to get that particular image out of my head. There he was, wearing only a rather inadequate towel wrapped loosely around his waist, water trickling down his lean, lithe body over tanned skin…

Okay, focus Andrew, _focus_. It'll give the game away if you start drooling, even if he does look absolutely gorgeous and half-naked and… No! Bad Andrew! Stop thinking dirty thoughts! He's your best friend. You should not be thinking that way about your best friend, no matter how unbelievably sexy your best friend happens to be… Oh, goddamnit.

I am fighting a losing battle against my hormones.

"You okay?" David asked, giving me a rather bemused look. I'm just lucky that he doesn't function particularly well first thing in the morning. Unfortunately the downside to this is that he doesn't pick up on the '_please god will you put on some damn clothes!_' vibe I'm trying to give off. Instead he comes closer, looking up at me with those incredibly blue eyes. I trample on the little voice at the back of my mind that's yelling 'kiss him! What's the worst that could happen?' and manage a nervous smile.

"I'm fine," I lied blatantly.

"Hmm…" he sounded less than convinced, and I almost cringed away as he raised a hand to gently touch the bruise on my cheek much as Jen had the night before. Actually, it was sometimes scary how alike the two of them were. Most guys would freak out if you told them they were so like their mom, but Jen's just cool. I shivered at the touch and closed my eyes in an attempt to control myself…ah cruel fate, how you love to mock me. I'm standing here with the hottest guy I've ever met half naked, so close I can feel his breath on my face, and I can't do shit about it.

"I'd better go get dressed," David said unexpectedly, and I breathed a soft sigh of relief as he left the room. I hadn't realised just how hard it would be to live with him without doing something we'd both regret.

I closed the door again and shed my clothes as I stepped into the shower. My back was aching where I'd hit the floor the night before, and the hot water felt good. Afterwards I wrapped a towel around my waist and went to find some clothes, feeling rather more positive about life in general. As I was pulling my jeans on, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. I felt a now-familiar surge of panic – I'd forgotten about that.

"What's wrong?" David asked. I turned to face him with a little sound of desperation.

"I can't go out looking like this!" I said, gesturing at my hair and eyes. He bit his lip thoughtfully.

"People have learned to deal with some pretty weird shit from us," he said, "So what we'll do is we'll cut your hair back to how long it was before and just tell everyone you dyed it again. And as for the eyes…I don't know; could you maybe just wear sunglasses or something?"

"Won't they make me take them off?"

"We could…" he looked at the ceiling for inspiration, and, having found no help there, stared blankly out of the window; "Um…fake a doctor's note? Say you've got something wrong with your eyes and bright light would hurt them?"

"David…" I stared at him for a moment; "You're a _genius_."

"Yep, I know," he replied placidly. I threw a sock at him.

It was almost like normal.

Breakfast was everything I'd hoped for and more…the bacon, the sausages, the fried eggs…oh; it was heaven on a plate. We explained our idea to Jen, and she obligingly hacked my hair back with kitchen scissors. I considered my reflection in the mirror thoughtfully – with the sunglasses on, I could about pass for normal. David put a fake signature on the 'doctor's note' with a flourish and neatly folded it into an envelope as I came back through to the kitchen carrying my bag.

"You'd better go," Jen said, glancing at the clock; "Got everything you need?"

"Yeah, I think so," David replied. He shoved a crumpled wad of physics notes into his bottomless pockets and grinned at me; "Let's go, dear."

The walk to school seemed to pass impossibly quickly, and by the time we were in sight of the school, with other students swarming all around us, I was getting incredibly jumpy. People kept looking at us sideways and whispering to each other behind their hands. I was staring to feel like my secret was emblazoned in flashing neon letters across my forehead.

"Everyone's looking at us weird," I muttered to David.

"Everyone always looks at us weird," he pointed out; "That's the fun thing about being us."

I looked at him dubiously, but he just smiled. I began to relax a little. He was right – I was just being paranoid. People have been throwing us funny looks and gossiping about us since forever. If you believe all of the rumours, I'm a schizophrenic transvestite who was in an asylum for self-harming, and David is an arsonist, male prostitute, and going out with any of twenty different people – me being one of them.

Like he said – that's the fun thing about being us.

I was just starting to relax – bloody universe lulling me into a false sense of security – when Melissa ran up to us and shrieked; "_OhmygodAndrewwhatthehellhappenedtoyouIsweartogoditwasn'tmewhotoldhim!_" We stared at her blankly for quite some time until she impatiently repeated what she had said. The blank looks didn't subside at all, and she apparently felt obliged to explain: "Everyone's saying that your dad beat you up and threw you out. I didn't think it was true, but those bruises…Andrew, what _happened_ to you?"

"Er…I…that is…"

Rumour is a fascinating thing. It seems sometimes to exist independently of people. I for one haven't the vaguest idea of what I'm going to tell everyone. If only we'd had the foresight to work out a plan – I feel bad that I'll probably have to lie to my closest friends. The thing is; I don't know how they'd react. It's not like coming out – I'd be hard pressed to name a single one of my friends who's entirely straight. But this is different…_what the hell am I going to say?_

"And there's another thing. You know Friday night?"

"Friday night…?"

"The _party_, Andy."

"Oh…oh yeah…" It's hard to believe that the party was only three days ago. So much has happened since then that it feels like months have passed. "So what's this about the party then…?"

"Well, y'know how you and David kissed-"

"Wait, we did _what_?" David demanded. Melissa looked at him, nonplussed. Then she began to giggle.

"You don't remember, do you? Well, you were pretty drunk I guess…anyway, we were playing spin the bottle and you two kissed. I didn't notice at the time, but apparently someone took a picture. And a video. And boys, you would not _believe_ how fast it's done the rounds on MySpace. And I was wondering…are the two rumours at all connected…?"

I was lost for words, and just gaped at her. But David wore the expression which I've come to recognise as the one that means he's thinking very fast. He flashed a charming smile at Melissa; "Would you excuse us?" Without waiting for a reply he grabbed me in an iron grip and dragged me behind the building. There's a little hollow where the gym block joins the art classrooms, and it's generally used for couples to make out away from prying eyes, or people to smoke. At this early time – probably the earliest we've ever been in school – it's deserted.

"This could work to our advantage," said David, who had recovered remarkably fast from being told he had kissed me while drunk. I shot him a sceptical look.

"How?"

"This is what we're going to do," he continued calmly as if he hadn't heard me; "At break, we're going to walk down to the middle school and talk to Karen – we have to get our story straight."

"What story?"

"Patience, dear, I was getting to that. What we're going to tell everyone is that your dad walked in on Karen while she was looking at that video of us on MySpace. He freaked out big time, there was a fight and he threw you out. Okay? That'll cover why you're not at home any more. I don't think you're parents would contradict us – they wouldn't want to admit to…the real reason."

"And how will we explain the video?" I asked, spotting the hole in his plan. He gave me a funny look.

"We were drunk, it was spin the bottle. Even to the most inbred red-neck there's obviously nothing more to it than that."

I bit my lip. I know he didn't mean it like that, I know he's just trying to reassure me, but the words still hurt. Because I so desperately want there to be more to it than that. I don't want it to be a drunken mistake we never speak of again. He notices my unhappiness, but – once again – spectacularly misinterprets it. Slinging a companionable arm around my shoulders, he said reassuringly; "Don't worry, it's the perfect cover. Your secret's safe."

_Your secret's safe_. I'm so confused right now. He of course meant that my mutant-secret is safe. I on the other hand am more worried about my crush-on-David secret (Yes, I know my priorities are messed-up). Part of me wants to bury that secret deep in my heart and never _ever_ let anyone find out about it, but another part wants to scream it to the skies and face his reaction for better or worse – at least I'd know.

My, I'm a veritable cornucopia of angst today. I shake my head to clear it as David steers me back out into the sunlight – I'll need all my concentration to keep up our current deception…

**Uh, yes…finally an update. And just to warn you, updates will not be frequent. I'm taking my big, important, determine-whether-or-not-I-can-go-to-university exams in…five months and counting. Ergo: a massive mountain of homework is being dumped on me by all teachers. As such I will only be updating this (And the other six or so fics I'm working on) in between my attempts at the Sisyphean task of doing all this work. All the time with those bloody exams hanging over me like the Sword of Damocles (Yes, I'm in a Greek Mythology mood) Anyway, please don't harass me for updates. I need straight A's and sadly my fics must suffer for me to get them…until June anyway. Then come the summer holidays when I can write 24/7 ::wink:: I promise I'll make it up to you then**


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